


Renaissance

by PhenixFleur



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: And possibly being in denial about some things, M/M, Noiz rediscovering his senses, Post Platinum Jail, Tags May Change, fluffy Allmates, followed by equally self-indulgent smut, making out in a hospital bed, shameless self-indulgent fluff, snacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles based around Noiz rediscovering his senses after the events of Platinum Jail, hand in hand with Aoba. Rating for later entries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Presented in no particular order save for the first one. Will probably extend past Noiz's stay in the hospital, but the first few will be set during that time. : )

Regaining consciousness felt very much like drowning in reverse. 

He floated within the heart of a deep sea of dark liquid; the consistency was far too thick to be water. A sound much like the steady beating of an immense heart drummed into his ears, rattling his bones and causing his teeth to chatter. 

Desperate to escape the cacophony, he began to swim for what he imagined to be the surface, meeting resistance yet persisting until it started to fade, traces of sunlight penetrating the waves and reaching out to him, drawing him forward, upwards, away from the miasma that lay behind him…

Noiz could hear himself groaning before he even made an attempt to open his eyes. His entire body felt leaden, and he doubted his limbs would respond if he even considered moving in the slightest. Whatever sedative they’d given him upon admission to the hospital was powerful. He could only vaguely remember being carted away, the sharp prick of the IV being inserted into the crook of his arm (and for once he could  _really_  feel it, the tip of the needle breaking the skin), a warm hand holding on to his gingerly until he drifted off, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. 

All around him were  _sensations_ , cloth against his skin, the IV fixed in his arm, held in place by strips of tape, the blanket draped over his currently useless body. It was an entirely new world, and he spent a few minutes simply reveling in the differentiation between textures, the clinical odor of the hospital room, the soft beeping of the machinery monitoring his vitals, a rhythmic  _shhhh_  that sounded for all the world like someone snoring. 

Snoring?

At last Noiz’s eyelids flickered open, an expression of irritation crossing his face. He’d been given a private room, so there shouldn’t have been anyone else present. Money could buy isolation and solitude just as well as peace of mind. 

He couldn’t sit up beyond the incline of the bed, which was also annoying; now that he was completely alert he could see the endless rows of bandages, the thick white casts encasing both legs. He looked for all the world like a mummy. 

He surveyed the room, confirming that his bed was the only one present - and then noticed something that he’d somehow managed to miss before. A chair was pulled up against the left side of his bed, facing the window, and in it a blue-haired figure dozed peacefully. Aoba; arguably the reason he was there in the first place, and in more ways than one. 

The early afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, bathing his friend (because Aoba, aggravating and intrusive Aoba was his friend) with something of a golden outline. Noiz wasn’t one for poetics, but his breath caught in his throat as he continued to survey this newest aspect of his life. He didn’t really believe in angels, but if they did exist, they probably had blue hair and soft amber eyes, shining from without and within with the warm glow of sunlight.

Whereas he'd  _seen_  Aoba before, constantly over the past few days and up  _quite_ close several times, it occurred to him that he’d never really seen him, not in the manner than he could now. Instead of yet another human body, Aoba was visibly unique, from his medium complexion, to the gradations of color in his hair (he regretted being unable to reach out and run his fingers through it; this was a new and slightly disturbing thought that he pushed to the side for later), the curve of his jaw and his feathery eyelashes. Was this what it was like to actually  _see_? If so, he could now understand why people would chose to wake up beside the same person, day after day. 

“Mm.” Aoba shifted, yawning; his eyes began to creep open, and Noiz stopped breathing again for a few seconds. Amber didn’t quite describe the color of Aoba’s eyes; it was a hue he had no name for, but it was absolutely beautiful. He found himself unable to look away as the young man’s vision cleared following perhaps a minute of disorientation. Aoba sat up, hair brushing over his shoulder while he stretched. The moment he was fully awake he immediately turned to check on the patient at his side, brow furrowed with anxiety until he realized that Noiz was now conscious as well. Those beautiful eyes lit up and he smiled; it was a genuine expression of joy that took Noiz’s breath away once again. “Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t much, but he’d never been one for wasting words. He doubted he could have given voice to what he was feeling at the moment, anyway.

Aoba reached over to place a hand on his arm, gently. “I’m glad.”

And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Noiz greeted the day with something that felt very much like happiness. “Yeah.”


	2. Taste Test

“What’s that?”

“Dango. Rice dumplings.”

“They’re sweet. What about that one?" 

"Imagawayaki." 

The hospital room’s sole occupant repeated the unfamiliar word before lifting the treat to his mouth gingerly and taking a rather large bite. Aoba watched him with interest, as always, waiting for the verdict. This time Noiz polished the small cake off before coming to a conclusion. "I don’t know what to call it.”

Anticipating that the imagawayaki might be rather complex for someone just developing a palate for more than the same two or three delivery items, Aoba had made sure to bring more than one. He fished the other cake out of his bag and unwrapped it, breaking it in half and offering one to Noiz. His friend (if that word still applied anymore, but that was speculation that could be done later) reached out for it shakily; after weeks of rehab he was finally regaining functionality in the fractures he’d received protecting Aoba before the collapse of Plantinum Jail, but progress was slow. Still, Noiz balked considerably less when Aoba let him feed himself than helping him with it the way he’d been forced to before Noiz could use his arms effectively, so he was content to wait for him however long it took. 

They bit into their halves simultaneously, and Aoba mulled over the flavor thoughtfully before responding. “Savory? It’s curry, so it isn’t going to be sweet or salty, really.”

Noiz simply nodded, accepting his opinion without further comment. 

Over the past month or so a new routine had developed between the two alongside Aoba’s regular visits. Recalling how his former unwilling rival had admitted to having spent what was probably years living off pizza and pasta he’d made it his personal mission to introduce Noiz to everything he’d been missing out on, from street snacks to candy to more elaborate offerings of the Old District. He suspected that Noiz looked forward to the constant barrage of food as much as much as Aoba enjoyed watching him try new things. He tended to favor sweet foods, which Aoba found adorable, but he wisely kept that thought to himself. 

The next item on the list was something fairly simple, but a staple of Japanese snack foods: thin biscuit sticks dipped in a variety of flavors. Strawberry and chocolate were cheaper, but Aoba had made the executive decision for Noiz’s first experience with Pocky to be of a higher quality: salted caramel. He anticipated a cute look of surprise on the kid’s face when he discovered that things could be both sweet and salty at the same time. 

Strangely enough, Noiz barely reacted as the stick of Pocky disappeared into his mouth. Aoba raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

Noiz shrugged.

Swallowing the vague feeling of disappointment, Aoba poked a stick of Pocky between his own lips, nibbling slowly - he hadn’t tasted that particular flavor before himself, and it was well worth savoring. 

Halfway through the stick of Pocky Noiz leaned forward, grimacing lightly at the movement, and chomped on the other end of the biscuit. His lips brushed against Aoba’s at the center briefly before breaking it in half and swallowing the rest with a self-satisfied smirk on his face at the sight of his visitor blushing fiercely enough to rival the Pocky box. "This one is the best.“

Aoba couldn’t argue with that one.

From then on, no matter how elaborate or simplistic his offerings were, he made sure to include a box of Pocky. 


End file.
